


A Convenient Heartbreak

by so_shhy



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Pure fluff with no redeeming features or pretense at realism, Yet another fake dating AU! Will they get together for real this time?? WHO KNOWS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 13:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16854943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_shhy/pseuds/so_shhy
Summary: My cheerful attempt at this old chestnut of a prompt:How about a “our asshole mutual friends set us up on a blind date and didn’t tell us it was a blind date, so instead of getting to know each other we spent the entire ‘date’ scheming against them and decided an awesome way to get back at them would be to pretend to date and then have a horrendous breakup but now that we’re two months into this charade we’re not sure what’s real and what’s fake anymore” au.Featuring Steve and Bucky being obnoxiously in love (externally) and wallowing in angst (internally). Plus, scheming, kissing, and various dates both real and imaginary.





	A Convenient Heartbreak

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was published on Tumblr something like 4 years ago, as a piece of unbetaed, nonsensical, trope-ridden fluff. Since tumblr is dwindling into a porn-free wasteland I'm rescuing it and putting it on here. Enjoy!

As Steve approached his friends’ favourite table in the Green Bean, with his latte and his muffin in hand, he saw Sharon pick up her handbag and hop to her feet. “Hi Steve,” she said, giving him a bright smile. “You’re late.”

Steve glanced at his watch and frowned. “I thought we were meeting at four.”

“Three-thirty, honey,” she said, “which means you just missed me. I need to go put in my time on the firing range. I’ll have to catch you next time.” She pecked him on the cheek, and wriggled around him to make her way between the tables to the door.

Steve sighed and settled himself into her abandoned chair. “Wasn’t it four?” he asked Sam.

“Three-thirty, man,” said Sam. He gave Steve a friendly punch on the shoulder, and then gestured to the table’s other occupant, a slim redhead dressed all in black. “This is Natasha, Sharon’s friend from kickboxing.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Steve.

She raised a perfect eyebrow at him, giving him a piercing look that seemed to sum him up in an instant, which was a little unsettling. “Great to meet you too, Steve,” she said, flashed him a smile, and then raised her hand to wave at someone behind him.

Steve glanced around, and spotted a guy waving back. He had longish brown hair and a baseball cap, and he was just collecting his coffee from the counter. As he came over to their table, Natasha rose elegantly to her feet.

“You’re late,” she said.

“Five minutes doesn’t count as late,” the guy said.

“ _Thirty_ five minutes.”

 “You said to meet at four.”

“Three-thirty,” said Sam and Natasha in unison.

“But luckily for you,” Natasha continued sweetly, “Steve here made the same mistake. I have to go now, but I’m sure you guys will have a blast.”

“Yeah,” said Sam, also getting to his feet. “We were just saying, you two have got a lot in common,”

Steve suddenly felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Have fun, fellas,” said Natasha.

Steve, now all alone in a crowded coffee shop, stared up at the stranger, who was clutching his cappuccino like he could use it as a shield, and staring back at him with an expression of mild horror.

“Oh, she fucking didn’t,” mystery guy said.

“Yeah,” said Steve, suppressing the desire to throw his muffin at Sam’s head as he exited the shop. “They fucking did.”

 

***

 

“She _keeps_ doing this to me,” said mystery guy, whose name had turned out to be Bucky Barnes. “I swear, that woman thinks her mission in life is to set me up. She just spent a whole week trying to talk me into asking out this guy from my building, and Christ, like _that’s_ gonna go well. One of us would have to end up moving apartments.”

“Only if you broke up.”

“Of course we’d break up. He’s an accountant, Steve.”

Steve snorted. Bucky, it seemed, was kind of an asshole.

“So what about you?” asked Bucky. “From the look on your face when your friend bailed, you weren’t too happy about this set-up either. What gives?”

“What gives is that my friends think I’m sad, lonely and pathetic.”

“Are you?” said Bucky, tilting his head interestedly. “Because it shouldn’t be so hard to meet someone, looking like you do.” He waved his hand in a gesture that encompassed all of Steve’s… Steveness.

Steve made a face. He knew perfectly well what he looked like, and he also knew perfectly well the _cry me a fucking river_ reactions he got when he complained about people only wanting him for his looks. But it did sting, knowing that before his growth spurt, when he had only his personality to go on, nobody had wanted to touch him with a ten foot pole.

Bucky might possibly have a little more sympathy than most, because he was objectively gorgeous himself, but Steve still wasn’t going to spill his guts.

“I’m just sick of having every eligible guy in the whole city shoved at me,” he said. “It’s like a conveyor belt. You’re the third this week.”

“Christ,” Bucky said, patting his arm with fellow-feeling. “Even Nat isn’t that bad.”

“They don’t understand that it’s never going to work. Blind dates? Set-ups? It’s all fake. I want to meet someone, make a connection, have it feel… _right_. I have to find some way to stop my friends doing this to me.”

“Then you’re a nicer guy than me, pal,” said Bucky. “I don’t just want to make her stop. I want _payback_.”

Steve laughed. “Sounds like she deserves it. What’s your plan?”

Bucky deflated a little. “Wish I knew,” he said. “Nat’s relentless. She’d probably only quit if one of the guys she set me up with murdered me in a back alley somewhere, and since I’m kind of into martial arts that probably wouldn’t happen.”

Of all Steve’s friends, Peggy, had perhaps known him best before she ran off to England. She had once said he had the soul of a devious little bastard wrapped in the body of a golden retriever. Most of the time, he didn’t agree. He was stubborn, he knew, and moody at times, but he thought of himself as straightforward and honest. Except for every now and then, when an idea popped unbidden into his head.

“What if one of them broke your heart?” he said.

Bucky put his elbows on the table, and propped his chin in his hands “Explain,” he said.

“What if we dated? Just for a month or so. And we broke up, and broke each other’s hearts. Then whenever Sharon tried to set me up I could tell her it was too soon, I hadn’t gotten over you. It’ll buy me a couple of months of freedom, at least.”

“And it’ll buy me a couple of months of pierogis and free lunches,” said Bucky. “Nat will feel so guilty for setting me up with you that she’ll even let _me_ pick the movies on movie night. This could save me from a month’s worth of subtitled existential art-house bullshit.”

“And in the meantime, we’ll be absolutely sickening together. We’ll _torture_ them.”

“Steve,” Bucky said seriously, “I think I love you.”

“You’re in?”

“Hell yeah, I’m in.”

 

***

 

“On a scale of one to ten, how pissed are you right now?” said Sam, when Steve got home a couple of hours later.

“Zero,” said Steve.

“What?”

“Zero.” Steve hung up his jacket, and put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, guiding him into the lounge and down onto the couch. “I like him, Sam. I really like him. He’s cute, and he likes baseball, and he grew up in Brooklyn. He’s an engineer, working on robotic prosthetics. We had such a good time, I gotta tell you _all_ about him.”

Bucky had given him a lot of detail to commit to memory. Steve figured he could draw this out for an hour, at least.

 

***

 

“So,” Bucky said, not even bothering with a hello when Steve picked up the phone, “when’s our next date? And by ‘date’ I mean I get to catch up on Netflix, and you get to do… whatever it is you do.”

“I can’t risk Sam finding me at home,” Steve said. “I’ll sit in the train station with my sketchbook.”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, the artist thing. You should have seen Nat’s face when I showed her that drawing of me you did on the napkin. I bought a little heart-shaped magnet and stuck it to my fridge.”

“Evil,” said Steve, impressed. “So… shall we make it dinner tomorrow? We should pick a restaurant we’ve both been to, so we can describe it if they ask.”

You know Julio’s? The Italian place? It’s, like, two blocks from your apartment.”

“The one with a Starbucks on either side? Sure.”

“Perfect. I’ll get the mushroom linguine.”

“I’ll get pizza. Pepperoni. No olives. No olives ever.”

“And I’ll skip the garlic bread. Gotta have nice breath for the goodnight kiss.”

“We kiss?” Steve said. Somehow it surprised him. He didn’t know Bucky well enough for that yet.  Then he mentally smacked him for being an idiot. “Of course we kiss. Tongue?”

“Just a little. I’m a gentleman.”

Steve didn’t bother calling bullshit on that. “What are we gonna talk about?” he asked.

About an hour later they had the whole conversation plotted out. Steve knew that Sharon would want a play-by-play. Sam definitely wouldn’t, but he was going to get one anyway.

 

***

 

After their respective friends swallowed the story of the imaginary dinner date, they felt like they were ready to take their brand new relationship out in public.

“We oughta be a little bit awkward,” Bucky had said, during the preparation stages for Saturday brunch. “We’ve only kissed once before, right? After dinner. So we both want to kiss hello, but we don’t know if the other one does. You go for the cheek, I go for the lips, we meet somewhere in the middle, and then we smile at each other, all goofy and embarrassed.”

“Sounds good,” Steve had said.

And it was.

Everything was so easy. As Steve came over to the table, Bucky rose to his feet with a shy, glowing, and utterly convincing smile. “Hey, Steve,” he said, and leaned in for the kiss. Steve tried for a peck on the cheek, and knew it was just fine that he didn’t know where to put his hands, because he was _supposed_ to mess this up. Bucky went for his lips, they bumped noses, and it took Steve absolutely no acting ability whatsoever to blush and grin just like they’d agreed. The kiss was certainly no hardship. Bucky smelled pleasant close-to, warm and clean with a hint of unscented soap. Steve would have called it a nice kiss, except that Bucky took advantage of having his back to the others by wiggling his eyebrows crazily as they pulled apart. Steve had to bite his lip so as not to burst out laughing.

“Jerk,” he whispered into Bucky’s ear as they took their neighbouring seats at the table.

“Aw, don’t be mad sweetie-pie,” Bucky whispered back. “Doll-face. Huggybear.”

Steve couldn’t help it. He had to laugh, and scooch his chair across the floor so he could jostle Bucky’s shoulder.

“Good morning, Steve,” Sharon said pointedly from across the table.

Steve looked up at her guiltily. He’d been so focused on the masquerade he was putting on with Bucky that he had completely forgotten to say hello to his actual friends. He gave a sheepish wave. Sam was there, of course, and Sharon, and Bucky’s interfering friend Natasha, and also one of her friends, Clint. Everyone was in the midst of perusing their menus. Steve pretended to do the same. He didn’t need to. He was getting waffles. Bucky was getting pancakes and bacon. They’d share.

Other than that, they’d decided, they’d keep the smooshiness to reasonably normal levels. It wouldn’t be convincing if they pushed too hard, too fast. They joined in the general conversation, which seemed to be going well. Natasha and Sam were enjoying a playful flirtation, and Sharon was bonding with Clint over a shared love of shooting things. It was a shame, Steve thought, that the two groups of friends would go their separate ways after he and Bucky broke up. Sharon and Natasha might still see each other at kick-boxing, but if the breakup was as gruesome as planned they would have to avoid each other as much as possible out of solidarity.

“Steve, we should get going,” Sam said, with an apologetic smile that said he was sorry to break up the party.

Steve nodded, and gave up on absently fork-fencing with Bucky for the last bite of pancake. “Yeah, we should.” They had general flatmate chores, grocery shopping, and a promise to help their elderly neighbours move a bunch of furniture, and then Steve needed to spend the evening catching up on some missed work. It wasn’t exactly a thrilling life.

He fished some bills out of his wallet to pay his share of the check, and stood up.

Bucky stood up too.

Oh, Steve thought. Right. _Goodbye_ kiss. They hadn’t discussed this one.

“I’ll call you tonight?” Bucky said.

“Yeah.”

If this kiss was supposed to be awkward, they failed. It was a quick, chaste press of the lips, with Bucky’s hand coming up to briefly cup the back of Steve’s head as though they did it every day.

“See you,” said Steve.

“See you,” echoed Bucky. Then, with a hint of his wicked grin, he murmured, “Doll-face.”

“ _Doll-face_?” said Sam incredulously as they made their way out.

“He likes pet names. I think it’s sweet. Isn’t he great, Sam? You liked him, right?”

“Yeah,” said Sam, with a poorly hidden eye-roll. “He’s great. You make a really cute couple.”

“You know,” Steve said, “I oughta apologise. I was a real jackass about you and Sharon trying to set me up the whole time. If you hadn’t, I’d never have met Bucky. Thank you, Sam. I owe you one.”

As they walked to their bus stop he got out his phone and tapped out a quick text to Bucky.

_I’m enjoying this way too much._

 

***

 

They had two more invented dates over the following week: one coffee after work, and one dinner-and-a-movie. A few phone calls, with extra help from Wikipedia and Rotten Tomatoes, meant they could both report back that coffee had been great, the movie was terrible, and Bucky or Steve (delete as appropriate) was basically the best thing since sliced bread.

So far the plan was working beautifully on all fronts. There had been no more attempts to set him up with anyone’s colleagues, friends, or distant acquaintances; no more pitying questions about his love life; no more of Sam trying to drag him out to gay bars.

And he was pretty sure the pair of them were starting to become really, really irritating.

The words, ‘Bucky says,’ and ‘Bucky thinks,’ were enough to cause Sam’s mouth to give a slight, pained twitch. Even Sharon, who had always been invested in Steve’s potential relationships, brightly changed the subject whenever Bucky’s name came up.

Both of them were clearly wishing that Steve maybe wasn’t _quite_ so happy. And that was only going to make them feel even guiltier when he was left alone and devastated at the end of it all.

“We’re terrible people,” Steve told Bucky on their next phone call. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” said Bucky. “Look, you can still back out. If you don’t want to make your friends feel bad, we just keep this up a while longer and then you tell them it was an infatuation and you’re ready to move on. Me, though? I’m gonna be heartbroken and get my pierogis.”

“I didn’t say I was backing out,” said Steve. _Ready to move on_ sounded like the worst possible thing he could say in front of Sharon and Sam. “I just thought it was worth mentioning.”

“That we’re terrible people?”

“Yeah.”

“Duly noted. So, what’s the plan for the weekend?  I’m thinking something where we get a chance to hold hands, and maybe kiss now and then. Nat says public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable.”

“Sam and Sharon are going bowling. I thought we could tag along. We could invite Clint and Natasha too.”

“I hate bowling,” said Bucky. “Steve, I’m _shit_ at bowling.”

Steve felt a grin spread over his own face. “Really? Shit like, you might need someone to help you? Pressing up against you to show you how to throw? Hugging you for comfort when it goes wrong? Kissing you to celebrate when it goes right? Something like that?”

“Have I told you that I love you?”

“Maybe once or twice”.

 

***

 

“I did it!” said Bucky two days later, as all but one of the pins clattered to the ground. His voice was filled with delight, his eyes filled with wicked sadism.

“You did really great, sweetie,” Steve told him.

“Only because you’re an amazing teacher.”

“You’re an amazing student,” Steve said, and pecked him on the lips in a way that was already becoming familiar. “Come on, let’s get that last pin.”

Over the cheesy music of the bowling alley, Sam’s groan was perfectly audible.

 

***

 

The real problem with all the imaginary date nights was that Steve had to spend them on his own. Bucky, who lived alone, didn’t mind a couple of evenings a week eating pizza and mainlining The Walking Dead. Steve had to be out of the apartment, he had to miss out on whatever his friends might be doing, and he had to avoid anywhere they might catch him. The weather was turning chilly, the evenings were drawing in, and it wasn’t much fun sitting and sketching, or walking around the city, or going to a movie with nobody to talk to about it afterwards.

“Look,” said Bucky, when they arranged their next dinner date, “just come hang out at my place.”

“Wouldn’t that be… weird?”

“Why would it be? You can do your own thing. There’s food, Wi-Fi, TV. I figure it’d be better than sitting in a café all alone for three hours.”

It was a really nice offer.  Still, when Steve knocked on Bucky’s door on Tuesday evening, it did feel weird. They’d talked a whole lot on the phone since they started fake-dating, but this was the first time they’d actually be in the same place without any of their friends around.

Steve was clutching a box of doughnuts. He felt like he had to bring something, and a six-pack would have seemed too social, somehow. Like he expected Bucky to entertain him. And he didn’t. They were just going to be inhabiting the same space, companionably.

He knocked. The door opened and there was Bucky, as gorgeous as usual, even without his usual fashion-conscious get-up. He was comfortably dressed in sweats and an old college t-shirt, washed thin. “Hey,” he said, “come on in. It’s a mess, sorry.”

“Thanks for having me over,” said Steve, stepping past him and only just preventing himself from leaning in for their habitual hello kiss.

“I ordered pizza,” said Bucky. “Pepperoni. No olives.” He grinned. “No olives ever.”

“Great,” said Steve. “I… uh, I brought doughnuts.”

A quick glance around the room showed that Bucky’s definition of messy was stretching things a little. It was cluttered but comfortable. There was nothing of the minimalist in Bucky.  Steve found his nervousness tempered by interest as he realised quite how similar it all was to what he’d expected. Propped in the corner was the guitar that he knew Bucky always forgot to practice. A photo on one of the bookshelves showed five dark-haired girls in descending order of height, the last probably not yet in her teens. Becca, Steve recalled. Bucky’s youngest sister was called Becca.

Everywhere, there were familiar touches – posters, DVDs and books he knew Bucky liked, the desk in the corner that Bucky had mentioned once when he was describing his work, with an incomprehensible mechanical diagram pinned up behind it that could only be the previous iteration of the prosthetic limb Bucky was working on.

These past couple of weeks they’d spent hours on the phone plotting together and getting their stories straight. Apparently, by fake dating Bucky, Steve had learned quite a lot about him. The thought made him smile, and somehow after that hanging out didn’t seem awkward at all. Bucky fetched him a drink and fired up Netflix. Steve opened up his laptop and began browsing around, occasionally looking up, distracted, when a zombie’s head exploded in a splatter of blood on the TV screen.

“Not while we’re eating,” he begged, after the pizza arrived. “I don’t want to watch you dripping tomato sauce and cheese everywhere while someone’s getting their throat torn out in the background.”

“Wuss,” Bucky said, laughing, and switched to the first episode of Gilmore Girls.

Steve groaned. “You gotta be kidding me,” he said, but they let it play in the background while they ate and chatted.

At home, Bucky was like a combination of the two versions Steve already knew. The mocking sense of humour from their phone conversations was much in evidence, but it seemed different when Steve could see his smile. Not the dreamy, smitten smile he wore when he and Steve were putting on a show for their friends. A wry smile that made his jokes softer and kinder.

Finally, Steve checked his watch and found it was getting on for eleven. “I’d probably be heading home around now,” he said. “Unless you invited me up for coffee.”

“Are you the type of guy who puts out on the…” Bucky paused counting on his fingers, “…sixth date?”

“Probably not,” said Steve honestly. “Are you?”

“Definitely yes,” said Bucky. “But it’s cool. I’ll just tell Nat about how much I’m dying to jump your bones, but that you’re worth waiting for, however long it takes.” He fluttered his eyelashes. “Because you’re just _so_ special, Steve.”

“You really are a jerk,” said Steve, and grabbed his jacket on his way out.

 

***

 

“Did date night go well?” said Sam the next morning. “I heard you singing in the shower, man, and seriously? Was that the Gilmore Girls theme song? I mean… that’s just sad.”

”You _know_ the Gilmore Girls theme?”

“Shut up. So, was it another golden evening with Mr Perfect?”

“It was great,” Steve said, and gave a brief run-down on how they’d checked out a barely-known local band and grabbed burgers, and had a romantic walk afterwards. All very sweet and predictable. They would really have to start getting more creative, he reflected, or he’d get bored of telling his own stories.

“When are you seeing him again?”

“Not until the weekend,” Steve said, faking a sigh. Bucky was busy with Natasha that night, and he was busy the next two, so they wouldn’t have another fake date until it was time for more PDAs in front of their friends on Saturday.

His phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and picked up, making sure to smile widely as he did so. “Hey there, baby. Did you sleep well?”

“Baby? I’m guessing you’re not alone,” said Bucky, amused.

“Yeah,” said Steve, shooting a surreptitious glance at Sam. “Aw… I know, I sleep better with someone to cuddle up to. Maybe next time, huh?”

Bucky swallowed a snigger. “Quit torturing your roommate. I need you to help me torture Natasha.”

“Anything you want, sweetie,” said Steve. He gave Sam an apologetic smile. “I’m just gonna take this in my room.”

“Praise be to Jesus,” Sam muttered.

“So what’s the problem?” asked Steve, once the door had safely shut behind him.

“You remember I told you about Natasha’s hellish art-house cinema fixation?”

“Yeah.”

“Well she’s dragging me to the movie theatre tonight. I can’t say no. She has blackmail material, it’s a long story. If you don’t have plans, wouldya tag along? I figure if we murmur lovingly to each other through the first ten minutes of it she’ll be glad to be rid of me.”

“I guess. You promise you’ll protect me if she gets mad?” Steve asked. He found Natasha astonishingly intimidating.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Bucky. “If she disembowels anyone, it’s gonna be me.”

 

***

 

The movie had five star reviews from a whole bunch of international critics, and was on limited release in the States in places like Natasha’s very hipster local independent movie theatre. Steve had watched the trailer online in preparation, which suggested that the movie was mostly composed of wide shots of lakes, and people having bitter, monosyllabic conversations in white-and-beige kitchens.

He didn’t blame Bucky for wanting backup.

Outside the theatre he greeted Natasha with a friendly hello, and Bucky with a kiss that seemed, in some strange way, to be the same kiss that he had almost given him the night before.

The girl at the ticket desk obviously knew Natasha, and gushed a little over the film, and how she was going to enjoy it _so_ much. Steve, hanging back with Bucky, heard words like, ‘alienation,’ ‘human condition,’ and ‘meditation on the nature of time.’ They shared an eyeroll and a hand squeeze. They’d been holding hands from the moment they met.

The theatre wasn’t packed, but it wasn’t empty either. They found seats near the back, with Natasha furthest in, Bucky next to her, and Steve just one seat from the aisle.

He actually enjoyed the trailers. The artistic side of him appreciated composition and colour work, and several of the directors seemed to be doing interesting things. But by five minutes into the actual movie he was bored and confused, and couldn’t shake the vague worry that he was too mainstream to have any personal depth.

“You see what I mean?” Bucky breathed, warm against his ear.

“It could use more car chases.”

“OK, let’s see what we can do.” There was a gleeful hint to Bucky’s whisper. “I’ve always wanted to try this.”

He let go of Steve’s hand, shifted position, and stretched theatrically until his arm was draped across the back of Steve’s seat.

“Smooth,” Steve murmured. Then, in the flickering light from the screen, he caught sight of Natasha’s glare. Instinctively he huddled closer to Bucky.

Bucky grinned, and wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Hey there,” he whispered, a little louder than before.

Natasha gave a little huff of annoyance.

“Hi, beautiful,” Steve whispered back.

“ _Quiet_ ,” Natasha hissed.

Bucky pulled away. “Sorry, Nat.” He mimed zipping his lip. “Not another word, I promise.”

They spent the next five minutes of the baffling movie inching back into their cuddled-up position. Steve had an excellent view of how Natasha’s spine stiffened little by little.”

“Bucky?” he whispered, to see her twitch.

“Shush,” Bucky said. He laid his finger across Steve’s lips. “No talking.”

And then he replaced the finger with his mouth.

Kissing was just fine, Steve reminded himself. A peck on the lips. Not a problem. They did it all the time. A kiss hello. A kiss goodbye. A kiss for a strike at the bowling alley. Easy.

Then Bucky kissed him again.

“This okay?” Bucky breathed, too low for Natasha to hear. “It’ll really piss her off.”

Steve kissed back, experimentally. Soft kisses, closed-mouthed, Bucky’s lips moving under his own. If he was honest with himself – and he tried to be – he enjoyed this part of the charade. He shouldn’t, but he did. It was a long time since he’d been with someone, and he’d missed the closeness. Cuddling in a movie theatre. Kisses. Physically, it was real. And who wouldn’t want to kiss a guy like Bucky?

Caught up in the feeling, focused on the wet sounds they made as they deepened the kisses, he told himself that Bucky was right. This must be driving Natasha up the wall.

He didn’t exactly intend to give out a little, soft moan, but it was certainly effective. The next kiss was interrupted by a jolt that smushed Bucky’s face into his own for an uncomfortable moment, and he looked up to find Natasha in the process of elbowing Bucky in the side again.

“Out,” she hissed. “Both of you. I’m not having an award-winning piece of world cinema ruined by a pair of horny teenagers.”

“But I was enjoying the movie.”

“James, I will _tear your arms off_.”

“Okay, okay! Jeez,” Bucky whispered, and  grabbed for his jacket, shoving Steve out of the aisle ahead of him.

By the time they stumbled out of the lobby and into the street they were both laughing so hard they could barely stand.

“She’s going to kill me,” Bucky gasped. “She’s actually going to kill me, and it’ll be worth it. Her face, Steve.  Did you see her face?”

“You swore you’d protect me, remember?”

“I got you, buddy. I’ll be a human shield. Christ, _thank_ you. That was beyond the call of duty.” He sobered slightly, catching his breath, leaning against the wall and looking up into Steve’s face. “You didn’t mind, though, right? I mean, I know you said you were okay with kissing, but what we did in there kinda counts as making out.”

“I’m okay with making out,” Steve said, trying not to think about quite how okay it had been. “Anything for the mission.”

 

***

 

“Hiking again,” said Bucky, sounding mildly exasperated. “This is useless. Half of these suggestions are about hiking, picnics, and horseback riding.”

“Not really practical when it’ll be dark in an hour,” said Steve, glancing out of Bucky’s apartment window. They hadn’t managed to plan their date story in advance this time, so he’d come over after work to help brainstorm.

“Amusement park?” said Bucky, scanning down the list.

“I get sick on rollercoasters.”

“OK, no. Hmm… do you think we should ‘enjoy some serious relaxation with a couple’s massage’?”

Steve snorted and shook his head firmly. That one was a seriously bad idea. His mind was well aware that their relationship was a fantasy, but he couldn’t help worrying that those kisses had given his body the wrong signals. He certainly didn’t want to confuse it further with the image of Bucky half-naked and covered in oil.

Bucky scrolled down with two fingers on his touchpad. “Do a crossword puzzle.”

“A _crossword puzzle_?” said Steve, sitting up from his sprawled position on the couch to peer at the laptop screen.  “That’s supposed to be a creative date idea?”

“Honest to god,” said Bucky. “Idea number sixteen. Christ, this one’s even worse – get a big piece of paper and do a collaborative art project. Hell no. Not unless it means I get to sleep on the couch while you draw me.”

Steve sighed. “This is getting ridiculous. Can’t we just _actually_ have an evening in?” he said.

“What?”

“Tell them we spent the evening at your place, watching TV and eating pizza.”

“While we secretly spend the evening at my place, watching TV and eating pizza? How devious.”

“We could deviously pretend we watched The Notebook instead of your horrible zombie show.”

Bucky hesitated. “Yeah,” he said, cautiously. “And… maybe you could spend the night.”

Steve blinked at him, momentarily speechless.

“Wouldn’t you want to, by now?” said Bucky. “You don’t strike me as the wait-until-marriage-type.”

“I guess,” Steve said. They were several dates into their relationship. In public, they were cutesy as hell, touchy-feely, the whole nine yards. If they didn’t start spending a night or two together Sam and Sharon would begin to wonder what was wrong.

“The couch folds out,” said Bucky. “And I make a mean slice of toast.”

“Okay,” said Steve, dry-mouthed with sudden nervousness. It shouldn’t be a big deal. He’d crash on Bucky’s couch, and try to walk around looking smug the next day. “We can’t do that tonight, though. I don’t even have a toothbrush, and I wouldn’t have time to go home and change before work.”

“Friday, then?”

“Uh. Yeah. Sure.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “So, we still need a plan for this evening.” He frowned, clicking through to another article. “Oh, hey, here’s something. This one has sports stuff. Laser tag? Hmm. Oh, hey, how about going to the batting cages? That’s something we might do.”

“Yeah, that’s a possibility,” said Steve, glad of the distraction. “I haven’t done that in forever.”

“Me neither. I used to. Loved it when I was a kid.” Bucky clicked through a couple more sites. “Here’s a place that’s open until nine. That’s plausible.”

Steve didn’t get to do much sports these days, beyond the gym and his running. He’d missed the tension of waiting for the ball, and the smack of it on his bat, “We could go,” he said, impulsively.

“Yeah, that’s what I…”

“No, we could actually go. Hit a few balls. I feel like working off some energy.” He hesitated. The look of surprise on Bucky’s face left him feeling a little foolish. “You don’t have to come with me. I’ll just head down there on my own, get out of your hair for tonight.”

“I’ll come,” said Bucky. His eyes had gone bright with enthusiasm. “I’m almost out of zombies anyhow.”

“Thank god for that,” Steve said, and got up to find his shoes.

 

***

 

Once they got their tokens and got set up in neighbouring cages, Steve discovered that they were both fairly well matched, competitive as hell, and not afraid to trash talk. Bucky’s timing was better, and he was more reliable, but his balls smacked into the side netting more often that Steve’s, and Steve had the edge on pure strength. They both played until they were exhausted and sweaty, then sat exchanging tales of Brooklyn Little League – where they _had_ to have played on opposing teams at some point, even though Steve had spent most of his time sitting on the bench – before starting all over again. Afterwards they went for Thai food, because there was only so much All-American Bucky could take in one evening, and just… didn’t stop talking.

“We’re doing this again,” Bucky said, as the evening drew to a close. “And I’m taking you sparring. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you do martial arts.”

"I’m rusty,” Steve said, making a face. “I only got started because one of the teachers took pity on me and got me free classes. I was getting beaten up about twice a day in middle school.”

“Because you wouldn’t stop mouthing off.”

“Yeah.”

“I wish we’d gone to the same school. I’d have kicked their asses for you.”

“You think we’d have been friends?” said Steve, surprised.

 “Who knows?” Bucky said. “It’s a shame we’ll never find out.”

 

***

 

“I’ve never seen you dive into a relationship so fast, Steve,” said Sharon. “I’m really pleased for you. You don’t usually let people in like this.” She took a sip of her latte and set it back down on the table – the very same table where Steve and Bucky had had their blind date.

“It’s natural chemistry, I guess.”

“It’s something special. He seems to know you really well already. You’re not an easy guy to get to know.”

“That’s not true.”

“It’s completely true. I thought you were an little sweetheart when I first met you. It was months before I figured out what an opinionated, sarcastic asshole you are.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean. That side of you only comes out when you’re around your friends.” She rolled her eyes. “Or when you get in a fight outside a 7-Eleven.”

“That was one time. And I was hardly gonna stand around while that guy hassled that poor woman.”

“I’m not saying to didn’t do the right thing, Steve. I’m saying I was surprised at how my shy little puppy of a friend suddenly turned into an avenging angel of righteousness.”

Steve put his head in his hands. “Please shut up,” he said.

Once they’d finished their coffees, finished catching up, and gone their separate ways, his mind kept floating back to the conversation. It wasn’t chemistry, of course, but he did feel surprisingly comfortable with Bucky. He wasn’t entirely sure why. The only explanation he could think of was that the relationship had an expiry date, and honestly, it didn’t matter whether Bucky liked him or not. So why waste effort on being anything but himself? There was nothing to lose.

It wasn’t that he’d let Bucky in, exactly. He just hadn’t bothered keeping him out.

 

***

 

That Friday, Steve didn’t go over to Bucky’s place right away. He fell back on his original strategies for their date nights – he went to a movie alone, got a quick meal in a café, and sat in the train station making lightning-quick sketches of passers-by. When he finally knocked on Bucky’s door, with a little backpack of overnight things slung over his shoulder, it was nearly midnight.

Bucky was already dressed in sleep-pants and a t-shirt when he opened the door, but he looked wide awake. “Hey,” he said. “Come in. Jeez, you look cold.”

“I am,” said Steve, stepping gratefully inside. October had been chilly that year, and November was shaping up to be worse.

“You could have come over earlier.”

Steve shrugged. “I know. Thanks, but…”

He didn’t know why he hadn’t wanted to. There was nothing unpleasant about hanging out at Bucky’s. They never got on one another’s nerves. Just a couple of days earlier at the batting cages he’d had a blast. But today he’d just felt unsettled. Like he needed to keep moving.

“You want something to drink?” asked Bucky. “Beer? Coffee? Cocoa?”

“I’m good.”

“OK,” said Bucky, looking about as awkward as Steve felt. “I made up the couch for you, and there’s a towel laid out too.”

“Thanks,” said Steve. He seemed to be stuck on monosyllables.

“If you don’t need anything else, I’m gonna hit the sack. Thrilling Friday night, huh? It’s been a long week at work, I’m pretty much ready to crash out. You can watch TV, or whatever. You won’t disturb me, I’m a sound sleeper.”

“I’m pretty tired too,” said Steve.

He didn’t really want to watch anything, but he flicked the TV on anyway, just to have something to occupy him while Bucky brushed his teeth and retreated to his own room. Coming out of the bathroom to the sound of the Gilmore Girls theme song, Bucky laughed and ruffled Steve’s hair. “You’re hilarious,” he said, and suddenly things were a little less awkward.

“Goodnight, Buck.”

“Night, Steve. Sleep well.”

Steve took his own turn in the bathroom and lay down to sleep. The pull-out couch was comfortable enough, but he couldn’t settle. His mind was running in circles.

He’d crashed on friends’ couches before. But this was different. He was sleeping over at Bucky’s for a reason. Tomorrow he’d see Sam, and Sam would know – or _think_ he knew – that they’d had sex, that Steve’s (very) long dry spell had ended. He’d expect to see a spring in Steve’s step, a happy recollection of the night before in his eyes. Difficult to fake.

That wasn’t the only issue, though. Steve couldn’t help thinking… this was a practical arrangement, right? He and Bucky were both getting something they wanted out of it. A way to stop getting hassled about the whole dating thing, and a chance to get a little of their own back on their friends.

But there was something else Steve wanted, and Bucky might just be willing to give it to him.

He’d enjoyed the kissing. Really enjoyed it. It had left him wanting more. Maybe Bucky was in the midst of a dry spell too. Maybe they could help each other out.

What would happen if he knocked on Bucky’s bedroom door? They were both adults, they both knew there would be no strings attached to what they’d be doing. If Bucky had enjoyed kissing Steve anywhere near as much as Steve had enjoyed kissing him they certainly had a degree of sexual chemistry. So if Steve knocked on the door, and said… what? “Hey, Bucky, I’m kinda horny out here, how about a convenient fuck?”

No. The whole idea was ridiculous.

He rolled over, turning his back on temptation, and thought about baseball until he fell asleep.

 

***

 

When he woke, the room was filled with the smell of coffee and the sound of cheerful humming. To his own surprise, Steve found himself in an incredibly good mood. Propping himself up on his elbow, he looked over the back of the couch and saw Bucky standing at the counter, tipping cereal into a bowl one-handed while slurping from a coffee mug with the other.

“Morning,” said Steve.

“Hey,” said Bucky, smiling down at him. “Sleep well?”

“Really well.” Steve sat up and stretched. “OK if I go shower?”

“Be my guest,” said Bucky. “Which you already are, so, you know.”

Steve rolled out of bed, hiding his morning wood behind the towel Bucky had helpfully provided, and went into the bathroom, where he figured out the mysteries of Bucky’s shower controls, and stepped under the spray. He took a guilty break in the middle of washing to jerk off - which took almost no time at all - then dried, dressed, and walked out of the bathroom towelling his hair.

Soon, equipped with coffee, and waiting for his toast to pop up, he could almost imagine that last night’s awkwardness had never happened. Bucky was spooning up Cheerios, simultaneously poking at his phone, and talking about his hellish work week and what he might do with his Saturday for maximum relaxation.

“Don’t forget we’re going to that market thing this afternoon,” Steve put in, retrieving his toast from the toaster and sitting down at Bucky’s breakfast bar.

“Oh, yeah. Showing off for the audience.”

It was a farmers market Sam and Sharon wanted to visit. Bucky had invited his friends too, so he and Steve could get all their theatrical smooching in at once.

“I guess we’ll arrive together,” said Bucky. “Makes sense that we’d spend the morning hanging out.”

“That works.”

Do you think we need to figure out what happened last night?” said Bucky. Uncharacteristically, he was blushing. “You know… how tab A fitted into slot B?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he said. “Do you?”

Bucky poked at his Cheerios “I may have been known to give Nat a few details in the past,” he admitted. “She’s gonna ask.”

“Buck, I’m _not_ working out the details of a fictional night of passion with you,” said Steve.

“You gotta give me something.”

“No, I really don’t.”

Bucky grinned. “Maybe I’ll just tell her you’re terrible in bed.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Hey, I need some reason to  break up with you. That one’s pretty believable.”

“Screw you,” Steve said, throwing a toast crust at him.

Bucky caught it easily. “Did you?” he said. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Fine,” said Steve. “You want details?” He shouldn’t do this, he knew it, but Bucky’s smug grin was just begging to be wiped off his face.  “I took you to bed,” he said, letting his voice drop, low and sultry, “and I fingered you open so slowly I had you begging for my cock. But I didn’t give it to you, I just kept my fingers in there, brushing one fingertip over the spot that made you moan so pretty, and mouthing the very head of your dick. I didn’t let up, Buck, I kept going until you were screaming, desperate to get your hands on yourself and just jerk off until you came. But you didn’t, you kept your hands still just like I told you. You took it so beautifully.” His eyes were fixed on Bucky’s. Bucky was staring at him, mouth open, face flushed bright pink. “And then I flipped you over,” said Steve, “and pressed you down into the bed and fucked you, taking my time, slow at first, then harder and faster. I bet you never took anyone so deep in your life. When I got my hand on you, you went off like a rocket, and you felt so good around me, Buck. You felt so good coming on my cock, tightening around me, milking everything out of me. You were _perfect.”_

Bucky’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Uh…” he managed.

Steve gave him an innocent smile. “You got any peanut butter?”

“You _asshole_ ,” Bucky said, bursting out laughing. “You fucking asshole, I can’t believe you... _Jesus_ , Steve.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Steve asked. He thought he was doing an impressive job of keeping his voice steady while trying to will away the semi-erection that was mercifully hidden by the breakfast bar. “Details, right?”

“Just so you know,” Bucky said, pouring himself another cup of coffee, “I’ll be telling Nat every single word of that.”

It was Steve’s turn to blush.

 

***

 

“A girl gave me her number last night,” said Sam over dinner a few days later. “At that bar you didn’t come to because you were out with Bucky again.”

“Sorry,” Steve said, ducking his head. “I know I haven’t been around so much. It’s just… Bucky, you know.”

“All too well, dude,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “I swear to god, even if this girl turns out to be my one true soulmate, we’re not going to end up like the two of you.”

“What’s she like?” asked Steve.

“Sharp. Smart. Kinda grungy, which isn’t my usual style, but there was something about her, just got to me.”

“I know what you mean,” said Steve. “I didn’t really think Bucky would be my style either.”

Sam didn’t even roll his eyes this time. He just closed them for a moment, and gave a quiet sigh.

Steve was pretty good at this by now. Bucky’s name fell easily from his tongue in every possible conversation. When given the chance, he could talk about Bucky solidly for hours.

He listened to Sam talk about the girl he’d met, interjecting Bucky-related comments at intervals, feeling like a jerk in the most satisfying possible way, until his phone rang.

“Speak of the devil?” Sam said.

Steve laughed, and picked up. “Hey there, angel,” he said, and stuck out his tongue as Sam groaned. “We’re in the middle of dinner. Can I call you back?”

“Sure, babe,” said Bucky. “I’m in all evening.”

Steve hung up, and turned back to Sam. “So, tell me more about this girl.”

“If I can get a word in edgewise,” Sam muttered under his breath.

 

***

 

Steve didn’t call Bucky back right after dinner. He told himself he was being stupid, but he just couldn’t. He couldn’t, because he was trying to figure something out.

Bucky had said he was in all evening. Home. Alone. He’d probably been alone during the phone call. And yet, he’d called Steve _babe_.

It was a stupid thing to obsess about. There were an infinite number of reasons why Bucky would do that. Maybe Natasha or one of Bucky’s other friends had been there, and was just leaving. Maybe it had been a joke. Maybe it had been Bucky staying in character, just for the practice. Maybe it had been a slip of the tongue.

In absolutely every situation, _it didn’t matter_. He had no clue why he was so hung up on it.

Eventually, he managed to shake himself out of his funk, and picked up the phone.

Bucky’s greeting was not an endearment, though it sounded like he was smiling. “Steve, you’re a bad boyfriend,” he said without preamble. “You’re a _terrible_ boyfriend. You forgot our one month anniversary. Though, to be fair, so did I. It was last Wednesday.”

“Really? A month?” said Steve. It felt at once too long and too short a time. Too long because their arrangement had gone so smoothly he’d barely noticed the time passing. Too short because they’d packed so much into the time. He did the math quickly in his head - two date nights a week, and lately he’d been spending almost all of them at Bucky’s place. Plus maybe another two weekly sessions of hanging out together with one or both sets of their friends. They must have seen each other well over a dozen times, with innumerable phone conversations in-between to get their stories straight. “I guess that means we’ve been doing pretty well keeping up the charade,” he said.

“You’re missing the point,” said Bucky. “Come on, we’re supposed to be that sickening type of couple. We should have made a big deal about it. Dinner at a fancy restaurant, sending each other flowers, all that crap.” He paused. “Also, holy hell, I waited over a _month_ to sleep with you? It’s lucky you were worth the wait.”

“Damn right I was,” said Steve. The day after their little trip to the farmer’s market he’d seen Natasha looking at him speculatively, possibly with even a hint of respect. “So what should we do?” he asked. “It’s too late to fix it.”

“I figure the best thing is to make a huge fuss over the anniversary of the first time we slept together. That’d be even more sickening.”

“When would that be?” Steve asked. He checked the calendar on his laptop. “December 7th. It’s a Sunday. Okay, I’ll set up a reminder so we won’t forget.”

“Wait, _December_?” said Bucky. The tone of his voice had changed, turned serious. “Uh. Steve?”

“What?”

“I guess I didn’t think this through.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Another month… that’ll be… kind of a longer relationship than we were planning for.”

“Oh,” Steve said, as realisation dawned. “You’re right. We said we’d date for a month or so. Yeah. That’d be pushing the limits.”

“We can’t do this forever. It’ll get too complicated.”

There was a long pause.

“We should start thinking about how we’re gonna end it,” said Bucky.

Steve nodded. In the cold of his room, he pulled the comforter over his knees. “Let’s not do this over the phone,” he said. “Next date night, OK? We’ll talk.”

 

***

 

“What are we gonna fight about?” said Steve. He was curled in on himself on one end of Bucky’s couch, holding a slice of pizza he didn’t really want to eat unable to relax. “It has to be something serious. Something so bad that they can’t try to convince us to make up.”

“I could cheat on you,” said Bucky.

“What? Buck, no,” said Steve. “ _No_. Nobody’s cheating on anybody.”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s a good reason for a breakup.”

“It wouldn’t work. It’d be fine for me, I’d get to cry for a week, but it would miss the whole point for you. You want sympathy from Natasha. You want her to feel guilty for setting us up. You want movies and pierogi. That’s not gonna happen if you’re the asshole.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“It can’t be anybody’s fault. We just have to be… incompatible. We have to figure out that there are too many ways we don’t work together.”

“But it can be some amicable, mutual thing. It’s gotta be messy as hell.”

Steve nodded. “We have to really hurt each other somehow. Say really hurtful things. But we’ll need to keep it believable. Character flaws. We’ll have a fight over something dumb, like one of us forgetting a date, and it’ll escalate until you’re yelling at me that… that I’m cold and uptight and emotionally unavailable.”

“Cold and uptight?” said Bucky. “Who the hell would think that about you?”

“My last two boyfriends did.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Christ,” he said. “You sure know how to pick ’em.” He paused, and Steve saw his throat move as he swallowed. “OK, if we’re going with the opinions of past boyfriends, you can yell back at me that I never take anything seriously and I’m too shallow and immature for a real relationship.”

“Someone said that?”

Bucky nodded. “I got a shitload of pierogis after that one.”

“It’s bullshit. You know that, right? You’re not shallow _or_ immature.”

“How would you know?” said Bucky. He shrugged, trying for a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve never dated me.”

“I still know you,” said Steve. After a second’s hesitation, he pulled Bucky across the couch and into a hug.

“Wow,” Bucky mumbled into his shoulder. “This conversation got really depressing really fast.”

“Look on the bright side,” said Steve. “When we tell our friends about the fight, I don’t think either of us will have too much trouble acting upset.”

 

***

 

Saturday brunch at Bucky’s favourite diner was already becoming a tradition among the six of them. Occasionally other friends tagged along, but Sharon, Sam, Steve, Bucky, Natasha and Clint were the regulars. Steve always ordered waffles, Bucky always ordered pancakes, and they always shared, swapping endearments that were as sugary as the syrup they doused their food with.

As Steve speared a piece of bacon from Bucky’s plate on the Saturday following their breakup-related conversation, he was very aware that this was their last cuddly, comfortable brunch together.

The plan was to let a little bit of trouble creep into paradise. That afternoon was scheduled to be their first ever real argument, laying the groundwork for the following week, over which they would be snappish and disconsolate after every date night – all leading up to Saturday’s all-out showstopper of a fight, followed by the breakup, the long, long period of moping and guilt-tripping, and the vow that their friends would never set them up with anyone ever again.

It was no surprise that he found the idea unsettling. Acting cutesy was so much more pleasant than acting miserable. They’d both admitted on the phone earlier that it wasn’t going to be fun.

Steve fed Bucky a bite of waffle and gave his hand a squeeze – they were holding hands on the tabletop, of course – and zoned out of the conversation to let himself borrow a little reassurance. He smiled at Bucky, and Bucky smiled back and murmured, “Sweetie-pie. Doll-face. Huggybear,” in the way that never failed to make Steve crack up.

All of which meant that he was still barely listening when Sam started talking about Thanksgiving.

Most years, Sam spent Thanksgiving with his sister’s family. Steve, with no family of his own, usually tagged along. But Sam’s sister and her brood were taking a trip to Maine that year, to spend the holiday with her husband’s parents. Sam and Steve were going to make their own Thanksgiving meal, with Sharon joining them. Nothing special. No big deal.

And then Bucky kicked him under the table, and gave his hand a squeeze that was nothing to do with comfort. Because Sam was asking Nat about her Thanksgiving plans… and before Steve knew what was happening, Natasha, Clint and Bucky were all invited to dinner too.

“Great,” Sam said, grinning as the plans were settled. “That’s a relief. I know this one,” he indicated Steve with a jerk of his head, “would spend the day crying into his turkey if his snookums wasn’t around, and that’s really not something I should have to see.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, plastering a grin on his face. “That’ll be awesome, right, Buck?”

“Right,” Bucky agreed, shooting him a mildly panicked glance, and Steve knew that they were both thinking the same thing. They’d failed to take into account that the Big Breakup was scheduled for the weekend before Thanksgiving.

 

***

 

“Fucking Thanksgiving,” Bucky said, later that evening. “We shoulda figured.” He gave a huff of laughter and leaned back against the arm of the couch, covering his eyes with his hands. “Steve, we can’t break up before then. You got any idea how excited Clint is about being invited? We never do Thanksgiving for real. He hasn’t shut up about sweet potatoes ever since. I think Nat’s looking forward to it too, even though she’d never say. It’s such a normal thing, you know. A thing people with families do.”

“Yeah,” said Steve. He placed a beer on the coffee table at Bucky’s side, opened his own, and swatted at Bucky’s feet until he moved them to make space for Steve to sit down. “I didn’t even think about it. We shouldn’t have, even if Sam hadn’t invited you guys over. It’s hard enough for him not to be with his family. He shouldn’t have to deal with me fake-moping all day.”

“We’ll change the timings,” said Bucky, taking a pull on his beer. “We can break up the weekend after thanksgiving.”

“ _Two_ weekends after.”

“Why?”

“The preparation fights. We can’t even be at the stage where we’re starting to get mad, otherwise we’d have to spend the whole meal sniping at each other.”

Bucky fumbled his phone out of his jeans pocket. “I can’t believe I have a colour-coded schedule of our relationship drama on this thing,” he said. “Fuck, that means we’re back into December again.”

“How far?”

“The weekend of the 6th. Too early to ruin Christmas.”

“Phew,” said Steve. He didn’t think he could face fake-crying on Christmas Day. “Tell me again why we thought this whole thing was a good idea in the first place?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You remember when they first set us up?” he said. “I was ready to strangle Nat, and I was going halfway insane trying to make everyone believe I didn’t need to be with someone right then. And these past few weeks, nobody’s been bugging me, and I can do what I want. It’s been _awesome_ , Steve. I swear, this is the most relaxed I’ve ever felt.”

Thinking back to that time, Steve had to agree. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate how much Sharon and Sam wanted to help him, and maybe he had been a little lonely, but going on those awkward, forced first dates had been making him absolutely miserable. Hanging out with Bucky had been so much better. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. Thanks, Buck. Thanks for doing this.”

“No problem. And now we just need to keep it up a little longer. It’s not so much of a hardship, huh?”

“You know what it means, though?”

“What?”

“We need an extra two weeks’ worth of imaginative date ideas.”

Bucky burst out laughing. “I’m _not_ going horseback riding with you, Steve.”

“Crossword puzzles?”

“Go to hell.”

“OK, OK,” said Steve, giving Bucky’s knee a soothing pat. “We’ll stick to movies, baseball, and nice places to eat.”

“And a fuckload of sex,” Bucky said, with a lazy grin. “Speaking of which, are you staying over tonight?”

“Yeah,” said Steve. He’d already let Sam know not to expect him back. It was almost expected now that he’d spend every other night or so at Bucky’s place. “Let me know if you need more explicit details of tab A and slot B to keep Natasha happy. I’m sure I can think of something.”

It took an effort to keep his words light and his smile in place. He _could_ think of something. Lots of things. Every single time he’d slept over at Bucky’s, he’d lain on the pull-out couch wondering what would happen if he got up and knocked on Bucky’s door.

 

***

 

In the couple of weeks leading up to Thanksgiving there wasn’t much change in their schedule. They kept up the imaginary date nights. If whatever activity they invented sounded fun, they actually went out and did it. If not, they stayed at Bucky’s and ate takeout. Steve got used to sleeping on the pull-out couch, in a state of mild sexual frustration, and bought himself a jar of peanut butter to keep at Bucky’s place so he could enjoy his toast at Bucky’s breakfast bar before work.

In front of their friends they kissed a little more often than they had before. There was no practical reason for it. Steve had a suspicion that he was subconsciously instigating it because he was going to miss the physical contact once they were broken up.

A few hiccups arose as a result of delaying their breakup – for example, when Sharon showed off a pair of new shoes to Steve. He made polite noises about how nice they looked, and, in an attempt to pretend interest, asked where she’d got them.

“A little boutique Natasha likes,” said Sharon. “Clint helped me pick them out. You’d never know it from how he dresses, but that man has incredible fashion sense. We put together a whole outfit.”

“You went shopping with Clint?”

“Yeah,” said Sharon. “I’ve been thinking we need to make more of an effort to be friends with Bucky’s friends. They’re great, Steve. You made a good choice with that one.”

“Thanks. I think so,” said Steve, putting on a besotted smile to hide how guilty he felt about Sharon’s imminent loss of her new shopping buddy.

He was still feeling guilty, unsettled, and just generally confused, when Thanksgiving finally rolled around.

The night before the big day, Steve was put to work in the kitchen playing sous chef to Sam’s Gordon Ramsay impression. He found himself frantically chopping and stirring and washing up, until they had a pumpkin pie and appetisers and everything else that could be done in advance. It didn’t seem to make a dent in the workload on the day itself. Sam had _standards_ when it came to Thanksgiving Dinner. His sister and her husband went all-out. They had given Sam their recipes, and he wanted to make all of them. Somehow in the cramped little kitchen of their apartment, Sam and Steve managed to put together roast potatoes, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, dinner rolls (homemade), green bean casserole, glazed carrots, and, of course, the turkey with stuffing and gravy.

“I thought I was supposed to feel like I was dying _after_ the meal,” said Steve, once everything was either in the oven or ready to go. He was sweaty from the hot stove, and he was pretty sure his face was an unattractive shade of red.

“Wimp,” Sam told him. He looked perfectly fresh and in control of the situation. Of course he did. He was the one who’d had a minion running around doing all the work for him. “Go shower so you can smell nice for your boy.”

Steve glared at him, and went off to shower. When he stepped out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips, he was greeted by a blast of heavenly cooking scents, and also a barrage of wolf whistles directed at his naked chest. Apparently their guests had arrived.

What followed was, to Steve’s surprise, one of the nicest Thanksgivings he’d ever had. The food wasn’t perfect, but it was plentiful and savoury. There wasn’t a single person who was going to complain about slightly dry turkey when they could smother it in gravy and fill the rest of their plate with a veritable mountain of butter-rich carbohydrates. They ate around the coffee table, three on the couch and three on cushions on the floor. The TV was on in the background, showing the obligatory football game, but nobody was watching. They were too busy talking about everything under the sun, from movies and books to personal philosophy. And over the pumpkin pie, Sam the traditionalist decided that they should all say one thing they were thankful for. Though the others groaned, they played along.

Clint said he was thankful for his new job as an archery instructor. Sharon was thankful that she was would be visiting Peggy in England for Christmas that year. Sam was thankful that he’d managed to cook his first ever Thanksgiving dinner. Natasha, with a raised eyebrow, said she was thankful that Clint had left some sweet potatoes for the rest of them.

“You two don’t get a turn,” said Sharon to Bucky and Steve. “We all know what you’re going to say.”

“You can’t prove anything,” said Bucky, and pressed a smacking kiss to Steve’s cheek.

Steve grinned, and stuck out his tongue at Sharon.

She was right, though. As the question had gone around the table he’d known what he had to say to keep up the charade. The problem was, when he thought about his actual, honest answer, it was exactly the same thing: _I’m thankful that I met Bucky._

After the pumpkin pie was eaten, and the conversation had mostly descended into pained groans of fullness, they all sprawled into as comfortable positions as their turgid stomachs would allow and basked in the glow of satiation.

Bucky and Steve had commandeered a large patch of floor, and more than their share of couch cushions. They lay in each other's arms, tucked so close that Steve could smell pumpkin spice on Bucky's breath.

"Hey," Bucky murmured.

"Hmm?" said Steve, not really paying attention. Then he caught the wicked glint in Bucky’s eye. "Hey beautiful," he amended. "What's up?"

"Let's take it up a notch," Bucky whispered.

Steve wanted to ask what he meant, but before he could get a word out Bucky's finger was pressing gently against his lips.

It was the same gesture Bucky had used in the movie theatre, before what could only be called their make-out session, and this time Bucky obviously had a similar plan in mind. His mouth descended on Steve's, soft and wet and sugar-sweet.

They kissed slowly, unhurried, as though they had all the time in the world ahead of them, rather than the few short, unpleasant days of bickering and sniping that would lead up to their split.

Touch starved, Steve told himself. That was why it felt so good to be here in Bucky's arms. He was touch starved and he wanted to be held.

Bucky's lips against his felt so right, as though the two of them belonged together. As though they should always be together, sprawled out on the couch while Bucky watched zombies and humans in bloody battles and Steve mumbled complaints about how disgusting it all was, or getting competitive at the batting cages, or eating at the breakfast bar in Bucky's apartment.

As he tucked his arm more firmly around Bucky's waist and nibbled gently on his lower lip, Steve thought: _I've fallen in love with him. Oh hell._

 

***

 

The week of their breakup was the same bizarre double life they’d led all along: one thing in public, another in private. And yet it was nothing like the same as before. Back at the beginning it had been cuteness in public, and a polite business relationship when they were discussing their plans. Now, behind the scenes they were friendly; friends, even. Good friends. When it was just the two of them, hanging out at Buck’s place, Steve had to constantly hold himself back from showing quite how much Bucky had come to mean to him.

In public, though, they were slowly but surely growing colder towards one another.

For Steve, it was a painful role to play. He found himself wanting to apologise for every snapped remark, and to kiss away every feigned furrow of sadness on Bucky’s face. _I didn’t mean it_ , he wanted to say, again and again, which was ridiculous, because Bucky knew perfectly well he didn’t mean it. Bucky wasn’t really hurt, just as Steve wasn’t hurt by the things Bucky was saying. He knew that once they were alone Bucky would grin at him and punch him on the shoulder and compliment him on his latest bitchy remark.

Sharon and Sam were becoming tense, uncomfortable and downright worried when they watched him and Bucky quarrel. That was the point, of course - to discourage their faith in their own matchmaking abilities. In theory, it had seemed like a great idea. In practice, it was less than fun.

“Stop looking like a kicked puppy, Steve,” said Bucky. “We’re supposed to be making them feel guilty, not wallowing in it ourselves. You don’t see me crying over Natasha’s sad face, do you?”

“Natasha doesn’t have a sad face,” said Steve, though he knew that her quiet watchfulness hid her own share of worry.

As the week drew to a close, they staged the first of their two really big fights. It was an evening out at a bar with their friends, and with Bucky playing drunker than he was the tension mounted quickly. There were snapped comments, -- “Can you _please_ act like an adult for five minutes?” – “Maybe if you’d just lighten the fuck up…” – “Yeah, because it’s my fault you’re embarrassing yourself…” – “Christ, do you know how self-righteous you sound?”

It ended with Steve taking Bucky firmly by the arm and saying, in a tightly furious voice, “Let’s talk about this someplace else.”

Outside, Steve took deep breaths of the cool night air. He could feel the thrum of adrenaline and the thump of his heart, his body responding almost as though the fight had been real.

“Hey, it’s okay,” said Bucky. “Relax.”

“Yeah,” said Steve, mustering up a smile. “I think that went well.”

“Well, since you almost convinced yourself, I’m gonna agree,” said Bucky. “Come on. You need a sugar hit. Let’s go for ice cream.”

 

***

 

Later that night, after an ice cream and a chilly wander around the city with Bucky at his side, Steve stopped outside his own front door and heaved a weary sigh. Time to put on his game face again.

As he let himself in, Sam muted the TV and gave him a concerned, questioning look. "Hey, dude. You didn’t answer my texts. Are you OK?”

Steve kicked off his shoes and shucked his jacket, and then stood there by the door, as though he could distance himself from the conversation he was supposed to have. "Not really,” he said.

“You wanna tell me about it?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna need cocoa for this?”

“Yeah,” Steve said again, gratefully. That bought him a few additional minutes while Sam made the cocoa, so they could talk about normal things like who used the last of the mini marshmallows. But it only took so long to heat milk and stir in sugar, and all too soon they were sipping at their drinks, and Steve was yet again faced with Sam’s concern.

“So, you and Bucky. What happened after you ran out on us at the bar?”

“We had a fight.”

“What was it about?”

Steve took a longer swig of sweet, creamy cocoa. It was comforting, and he needed all the comfort he could get. Earlier, Bucky had given him a playful pat on the shoulder and told him to go out there and win an Oscar. He didn’t need to fake his misery.

“I can’t even remember how it started,” he said, “just some stupid squabble, but everything he said was driving me nuts. He was being so childish, and we were snapping at each other, and it got worse and worse. It felt like he was throwing all my little faults right in my face. And then he told me I’m cold and uptight, and he feels like he can never get really close to me. And I walked out.”

What Bucky had actually said, frowning sceptically, was “Are you sure they’ll believe the ‘cold and uptight’ line, buddy? I mean, yeah, maybe I got that vibe the first time I met you, but it took, like, one week for you to get all warm and fuzzy.”

And Steve had sighed to himself, and wondered if that was around the time he’d started falling in love.

Anyhow, Sam had no problem believing the line. “That’s rough, dude,” he said. “You can get close. He just needs to give you a little more time than most people. Have you told him that?”

“He’s not the type to wait,” said Steve. “And besides…” and here came Bucky’s lies, “…I don’t think he’ll ever take this relationship as seriously as I need him to. He doesn’t take anything seriously. He’s too immature. I can’t open up to someone I can’t rely on.”

“So… what? You think it’s not gonna work between you?”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s the first guy in years who’s made me feel this way. I just wish he felt the same about me.”

“He does feel that way about you,” said Sam. “I’ve seen you guys together. You’re crazy about each other.“

No, Steve thought, just surprisingly good actors. "I thought we were,” he said. “I guess I was wrong.”

“Steve, you can’t just give up on this. Talk to him again. Tell him how you feel.”

“Yeah,” said Steve. That was part of the plan. He would go over to Bucky’s once more, sleep there, and come home on Sunday morning to tell Sam they’d broken up. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

 

***

 

“So how’d it go?” Bucky asked.

It was the following evening, and they were settled in their usual position on the couch, beers in hand, Bucky’s feet tucked comfortably against Steve’s thigh.

“Good. Sam told me I should talk to you about my intimacy issues. He’s really worried.”

“Yeah? Nat’s pissed as hell. I think she’s ready to kill you. Or me.” Bucky faked a glare. “Try harder, James,” he said, in a passable imitation of Natasha’s voice. “If you let this one get away you’re a bigger fool than I thought you were.”

“Tough love.”

“It’s a Russian thing. She acts like it’s my fault, but I know she feels bad about it. I’m looking at weeks of guilt trips, Steve. I can almost taste those pierogi.”

“That’s great, Buck.”

“Yeah,” said Bucky. “Yeah. It’s great. Mission accomplished, huh?”

“We made a good team,” said Steve. The past tense tried to stick in his throat, but he forced it out anyway.

“We sure did,” said Bucky. He was quiet for a moment, then he gave one of Steve’s feet a gentle pat. “Wanna watch something?”

“You pick,” said Steve. “No zombies.”

 

***

 

Even if Bucky had chosen Night of the Living Dead, Steve probably wouldn’t have noticed. For those couple of hours they’d spent curled up on the couch together, all he had been able to think about was Bucky’s warmth, and his closeness, and the few small points where their bodies touched. Then they had each taken their turn in the bathroom, and Bucky had said goodnight, leaving Steve on the fold-out couch with only the little red standby light on the TV for company. But even with Bucky gone, tucked away in his own room, Steve couldn’t stop thinking about him. Couldn’t stop wondering, as he had wondered every night, what would happen if he got up and knocked on the door.

Should he? It was his very last chance. He wanted Bucky desperately. His mind fed him sharp, bright sensory recollections, Bucky’s mouth on his, Bucky’s body pressed up against him as they lay together on Thanksgiving Day. How would that feel, skin against skin?

And if he knocked and Bucky said no, what would it matter? After tomorrow they’d never see each other again.

As he lay there, chasing the decision round and round in circles, there was the quiet click of an opening door. Bucky stood in his bedroom doorway, a darker shadow in the dark room.

“Steve,” he said, “d’you wanna come in?”

Slowly, very slowly, Steve got to his feet. Bucky stretched out his hand, and Steve took it, allowing himself to be led into the bedroom. And then Bucky was pushing him back towards the bed and they were kissing frantically, stumbling, and Steve flipped them as they fell so he could crawl on top of Bucky and press him down into the mattress.

They didn’t talk. No, that’s not true; they didn’t talk beyond the necessities. There were no declarations, no, “You’re beautiful,” or, “I want you.” Just the mechanical details of, “Wait, lift your leg - yes,” and, “Fuck, where’s the lube gone?” and “Right there, do that again.” They didn’t say each other’s names. It was purely physical. The intensity was staggering, all painting and sweat and touch. Steve’s skin felt electrified, his mouth hungry to taste every inch of Bucky’s body. Last chance, he thought. He wanted to do everything. He wanted to memorise every touch and every gasp, every awkward moment and every shock of pleasure.

He couldn’t though. It was too much, frantic and drawn-out both at once, a long, long rush that felt like it would never end, and yet ended far too soon.

And afterwards? Afterwards, they showered and cleaned up, and kissed one more time, and Steve went back to the couch for the rest of the night.

***

By nine o’clock the next morning - a Sunday - they were up and had eaten a quick, quiet breakfast. Bucky was still in a t-shirt and boxers, and Steve was dressed and ready to go.

“So, I guess this is it,” Bucky said.  “The part where I kick you out, toss all your stuff over the balcony and yell that I never want to see you again.” He huffed a laugh. “Shit, I didn’t think. Did you actually leave any of your stuff here?”

As it turned out, Steve had. A quick search revealed a couple of shirts that had got mixed in with Bucky’s laundry, a DVD he’d brought over for them to watch together, and a few bits and pieces from the bathroom.

“Lucky you thought of it,” said Steve, trying to smile as he put the few possessions into a plastic carrier bag. He felt unspeakably pathetic. If only Bucky hadn’t said anything, maybe these few possessions would have been an excuse to come back… but no, that would just be dragging out the inevitable. It needed to be a clean break.

“Leave me a shirt,” said Bucky abruptly.

“What?”

“A shirt. You should leave one behind. So I can… you know. I can cuddle it when I cry about how you broke my heart.”

“Oh.” Steve looked into his carrier bag. There were two t-shirt options - a plain blue one, or his ridiculous American flag shirt, his first ever birthday gift from Sam, that he wore to sleep in and had washed so often that the red had faded to pink. “Sure. Here.” He handed over the flag shirt, feeling more pathetic than ever. It shouldn’t make him feel better to leave a little piece of himself behind in Bucky’s space - and yet it did.

“I’ll get it back to you,” said Bucky.

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t need it back.” Bucky would probably just toss the shirt out when he was done with it, but Steve would never know, so at least he could pretend…

Oh god, he was actually losing his mind.

And that seemed to be all there was to say. Bucky saw him to the door. They both wished each other luck in acting heartbroken for their respective friends, and they both said thanks, and they both said goodbye. Steve wasn’t sure if they should hug, or shake hands, but somehow he found himself leaning in for a kiss that was just as stupidly awkward as their first ever kiss, with uncertain aim and bumping noses.

“Well, goodbye,” Bucky said again.

And Steve left.

***

He walked home in a daze of disbelief. It was over. Bucky was gone from his life. Bucky, who had been his friend and his partner in crime, and with whom he’d just had some of the best sex of his life. How could he have been so stupid as to let that happen? How would he ever be able to forget the way their bodies had fit together, the way Bucky had laughed in the pure delight of sensation. How alive he’d felt when they were together.

When he got back to his apartment, Sam was waiting with the same concerned look on his face that he’d worn the day before.

“Steve? You okay?”

“Bucky and I broke up,” said Steve. He felt blank, like the words didn’t make sense – and they didn’t, of course. It was a lie. He and Bucky hadn’t broken up. They’d never been together.

Sam nodded, with a little sympathetic twist to his mouth that showed he wasn’t at all surprised. “That sucks, man.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it sucks.”

Sam came over to hug him, which was pretty much exactly what Steve needed right then. It was a comforting, warm hug. Sam didn’t go in for the manly back-slap. He didn’t hug often, but when he did he did it properly. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked.

Steve shook his head. He really, really didn’t. All the careful lies he had planned had gone straight out of his head. “You guys are never setting me up with anyone again,” he said, because at least he could remember the point of the whole heartbreaking exercise. “No more blind dates. Ever.”

“I think you need a break from dating,” said Sam. Which had been true when the blind date had actually happened, but definitely wasn’t true now. Steve wanted to date Bucky. Who he was probably never going to see again.

Steve sighed. “Do you want to go to the gym?” he asked. “I really need to punch something.”

***

Punching things helped for a while, but since Steve was punching to a rhythm of you – goddamn – idiot, berating himself for having got himself into this ridiculous situation to begin with, he came out of the gym as depressed as he’d gone in.

On the way home, pacing beside Sam in silence, he brooded. He wondered where Bucky was at that moment. Probably Bucky was lounging in front of the TV with Natasha, eating sympathy pierogi, and pretending to cuddle Steve’s shirt as though it actually meant something to him. Probably Bucky was delighted with how things had gone. The plan had worked perfectly.

As soon as they were back in their apartment, Sam stopped Steve with a hand on his arm and pulled him into another totally unsolicited hug. “I’m sorry, man,” he said. “I haven’t seen you this messed up in a while. He was really something special to you, wasn’t he?”

“He got under my skin,” said Steve. “I don’t know how to get him out.”

 

***

 

“It’ll be too early to spoil Christmas,” Bucky had said when the two of them were planning their breakup timeline. The timeline left them nearly three weeks in-between breakup day and Christmas day. It had seemed like plenty, but after two weeks, Steve was resigned to the fact that he was not even close to getting over Bucky.

He had too much free time. Most of his evenings were spent sitting in his apartment, watching TV, and wondering what on earth he used to do with himself in the days before Bucky came into his life. He missed their not-exactly-dates. Going to the batting cages on his own just reminded him that Bucky wasn’t there. Sketching out in the cold weather made him think of the first time Bucky had taken pity on him and invited him over to hang out. Even spending time with his friends was tainted by thoughts of Bucky. Sharon had been friends with both Clint and Natasha, and Steve didn’t dare ask whether she had stopped seeing them or whether she just wasn’t mentioning it. He wondered if she heard anything from them about Bucky. Maybe she’d even seen him.

With all the honest misery he was going through, it shouldn’t have been hard to act the part for the benefit of Sharon and Sam. But he didn’t just have to act miserable. He had to tell them all about what a jerk Bucky had been. That was the hard part.

Sometimes he imagined going over to Bucky’s place, just knocking on the door, and when Bucky opened it, asking him out for real. But the picture his imagination provided him with was Bucky’s face wrinkling in disgust as he realised just how creepy Steve had been, getting off on their theatrical kisses. Or Bucky would stiffen as the air between them became charged with awkwardness, and explain that _it was just an act, Steve, you’re not my type, we’re not even friends._

At least, Steve thought as he, Sam and Sharon walked over to their local community centre, that particular Saturday he had a distraction to keep his mind off it all. It was the annual Christmas lunch for the over 60s, people who didn’t have much family to see over the holiday season. Steve had volunteered there the last few years, and dragged along as many of his friends as he could. He enjoyed the day, liked the organisers, and even visited the lonelier of the attendees occasionally during the year.

They were met at the door of the centre by Anna, the volunteer coordinator, who knew Steve fairly well. She kissed him on the cheek in greeting, hugged Sam, who she remembered from the previous year, and welcomed Sharon delightedly as a new volunteer. When she ushered them into the hall, Steve looked around in surprise. “This is different,” he said, waving his hand to indicate the glittering red and gold decorations that had replaced the rather tatty wreaths and garland of previous years.

“Yes,” she said, making a face. “We’re putting in a turn as a PR opportunity this year. Apparently Stark Industries is expanding their work with smaller charities, and we got picked. I’m sure the photos will look lovely on their corporate website. We might even make the papers.” Then she shrugged, laughing at herself. “I shouldn’t be so cynical. The extra cash has been a real help. The corporate volunteers have only just arrived, but they seem sensible enough. Bucky’s a charmer if ever I saw one. He’ll have the ladies eating out of his hand.”

“Bucky?” asked Sharon, far more casually than Steve could have managed.

“That’s what he calls himself,” said Anna. She gestured over to the other side of the room, where Natasha was just coming out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of cutlery. Behind her, Bucky was holding several packs of paper napkins and had more decorations looped around his neck.

“Oh _shit_ ,” hissed Sharon under her breath. Steve was sure she and Sam were exchanging horrified glances behind his back, but his eyes were only for Bucky.

Bucky looked good. No, Bucky looked _adorable_ , wrapped up in glittering wreaths, with a santa hat perched on top of his head. He caught sight of the new arrivals, and froze, with his mouth open, looking stunned.

Natasha, on the other hand, looked absolutely _murderous_.

 

***

 

“You don’t have to stay,” said Sharon, putting her hand on Steve's arm and giving it a little squeeze. “Not if it’s too uncomfortable.”

She and Sam had dragged him off to a corner for an emergency conference. They obviously expected him to be horrified at the turn of events. He was trying to act that way, trying not to glance over at Bucky every other second, and trying his best to avoid Natasha’s eyes.

“We can’t leave,” he said. “We’ve got a job to do.”

“Sam and I can handle your part.”

“No,” said Steve. “I’m an adult, I can be in the same room as my ex.”

“You can stay in the kitchen, then,” said Sharon firmly. “You don’t have to go anywhere near him.”

“But–”

“I’ll talk to Natasha, make sure he knows to stay out of there.”

“Great,” said Steve glumly. “Thanks.”

He made his way towards the kitchen, catching another death glare from Natasha on his way. Behind her, Bucky gave a little wave. “Hi,” he mouthed. He pointed two fingers at his eyes, then one at Steve, and then gave a thumbs-up.

It too Steve a second or so to figure it out. _Good to see you._ He was pretty sure that if he so much as smiled back Natasha would make him in a flash. He kept walking, and pulled out his phone. _You too_ , he texted, and added a couple of smiley faces for good measure.

Bucky’s response came less than a minute later: _I made Natasha promise not to go over there and kick your ass_ ;D

_Thanks. There’s not a lot I can do about Sam’s judgemental vibes, sorry._

_I’ll survive. I think Natasha and Sharon have organised a division of territories._

_Yeah. You’re meant to stay out there and I’m in the kitchen._

_I’ll sneak in and say hi when I can._

_Be stealthy._

_I was born stealthy. Later!_

_See you :D_ , Steve typed, and put his phone away, trying not to grin too obviously. Meeting Bucky again would probably be terrible for his emotional state, but it was just so good to see him.

Peeling and mashing twenty kilos of potatoes was quite fun, working alongside the other friendly cooks. It was also enlivened by Sam and Sharon popping their heads in to give him encouraging smiles and (with a sad lack of subtlety) worried sidelong looks. As the guests arrived and began their appetisers, the volunteers were kept busy with serving food and chatting, and as the main course progressed the kitchen volunteers trickled out to help, leaving Steve alone to plate out the desserts. He was just getting the hang of drizzling a spiral of chocolate sauce, when a familiar voice said, “Are you trying to draw the Mona Lisa with that stuff?”

Steve looked up. Bucky was leaning against the doorframe, one hip cocked, looking absolutely edible.

“Your artist’s soul is showing,” said Bucky, grinning. “How come the carrots weren’t carved into little effigies of Santa?”

“I didn’t do the carrots,” said Steve. “I was too busy digging my way out from under a mountain of potatoes.”

“You did the potatoes?” said Bucky. He gave a crack of laughter. “Of course you did. My new friend Mrs McCarthy said they tasted like glue. And I gotta say, pal, I tried some and I think she was being generous.”

“I’d like to see you do better,” said Steve, faking huffiness - which was difficult to do when he was smiling so wide his face hurt.

“I can make mashed potatoes, Steve. You take a potato, you hit it with something heavy. Voila.”

Steve burst out laughing. “Have I told you that you’re a jerk?”

“Hey, I’m not the one poisoning sweet old ladies.”

“You would be, if anyone was dumb enough to let you in a kitchen.”

“So,” said Bucky, “hi.” He stepped forwards at the same time Steve did, so they met in the middle for a hug.

“Hi, Buck,” said Steve. He felt flooded with Bucky’s warmth, tingling with it, and he had to force himself to let go before the hug stretched out to an unreasonable length.

Bucky was still smiling when he stepped back. “How’s life?” he asked. “How’s the master plan going? Have Sam and Sharon tried to set you up with anyone else?”

Steve could have kissed him – well, he could have kissed him anyway, but specifically he could have kissed him for asking that particular question, which meant that Steve was free to ask it in return. “No, they’ve left me alone. I’m date-free and single. You?”

“The same,” Bucky said, and Steve’s heart gave a totally stupid, illogical leap. “Nat thinks I’m still kinda hung up on you.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Hell, I think someone’s coming. I gotta go.”

“Come back later?” said Steve, hoping he sounded friendly rather than thoroughly pathetic and desperate. “It’d be good to catch up.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Bucky said, already halfway out of the door.

About five minutes later Steve’s phone buzzed.

_Do you want to sneak off and get a drink after this? I can tell Natasha that I want to be alone to mope._

_Sure,_ Steve wrote back. _Let me know when and where._

He went back to doling out plates of chocolate sponge cake with renewed energy.

 

***

 

It took a bit of effort on Steve’s part to convince Sam that he didn’t need distracting, and he wasn’t planning to find a bar and sit there alone, crying into several consecutive glasses of bourbon.

When Sam finally let him go, he breathed a sigh of relief and set off to walk the three blocks to the café where he was meeting Bucky. His stomach felt fluttery with what was probably more excitement than nervousness, because Bucky made him stupid enough to forget about the consequences of what he was doing. While he wasn’t usually one for instant gratification, at that moment he was too busy wanting Bucky’s closeness to think about the pain that would follow.

Bucky was waiting, with a latte and a cappuccino already on the table. He was looking thoughtful as he stirred the sugar into his cappuccino, but he looked up as Steve approached the table, and his face split into a smile so bright that Steve felt honestly dazzled by it.

There was no awkwardness. They went straight from Steve’s hello-thanks-for-the-coffee to stories of their respective friends’ reactions to their breakup, and from there to talking about the day at the community centre. Bucky had apparently gone down a storm with the ladies. “They said I was a lovely young man,” he said, with one eyebrow raised sceptically. “I’m pretty sure most of them were staring at my ass whenever I turned around.”

“Buck, the Pope would stare at your ass if you turned around.”

Bucky laughed. “I’ll stay out of the Vatican then, huh?”

Apparently it had been a pure coincidence that they were at the same community centre at the same time. Like half of Stark industries, Bucky had been under company orders to find a charity project and lend a Christmas helping hand. It had seemed like a decent cause, not too much work, and something he could drag his friends along to.

“When I saw you there I didn’t know what the hell to think,” he said. “I figured maybe Nat had set it up, but no, she actually hissed at you from across the room like a cat protecting her kitten.”

“You’re calling yourself a kitten?”

Bucky smirked. “I’m that damn cute, and you know it.”

And Steve just… looked at him. Because God, yes, he was. Bucky looked right back at him, a curious expression on his face, until Steve shook himself out of the moment and started the conversation up again.

But over the next hour, there were more and more of those moments, times when they went quiet and just looked at each other. Steve felt himself flushing under Bucky’s eyes. It felt almost as though something was building between them. They finally left the café and started down the street. It was full dark in the December evening, and Steve belatedly realised that it was the shortest day of the year. The air was chill, with a tang of threatening snow to it, but Steve still felt the warmth of the blush on his face.

When they reached the point where their paths diverged, Steve opened his mouth for a goodbye that never left his lips.

“Steve,” said Bucky. His hand closed around Steve’s wrist. “Come back to my place.”

“Why?”

“To play table tennis, why the fuck do you think?” said Bucky. His eyes had gone dark and hungry. “Come on. You can’t tell me you don’t want to.”

 _This is a terrible idea_ , Steve’s brain informed him. Somehow, though, a second later he had Bucky pushed back against the nearest wall and was kissing him fiercely. Bucky kissed back just as desperately, his mouth hot and sweet under Steve’s, and a little purring growl catching in the back of his throat.

It was imperative that they get to a private place right that minute.

Bucky’s apartment wasn’t far. They didn’t talk on the way, and didn’t hold hands, though Steve itched with the need to touch. As they made their way up the stairs of the walk-up, their shoulders bumped and their fingers finally tangled. Bucky tugged Steve along the corridor to his door, fumbling one-handed for his key.

Inside, they were on one another in seconds. They shared searing kisses, knocking against the couch and the kitchen counter in their hurry as Bucky walked Steve backwards towards the bedroom.

They ended up sprawled on the bed, cursing at the layers of clothing between them, laughing as they tried to shed their jackets and shoes without letting go of one another. When they were finally free of their outerwear Bucky pounced once again and made a spirited attempt to strip off Steve’s t-shirt and suck on his neck at the same time. It really, really wasn’t going to work.

“Quit it, you moron,” Steve said, and pulled off the shirt himself.

“Christ, Steve,” Bucky said, sitting back and running his eyes appreciatively over Steve’s bare chest.  “Look at you.”

And Steve… he just froze.

It was so different to the first time this had happened, so different from the silent physical pleasure. That had felt like it happened in another world, one he could push to the back of his mind come morning. This was real. This was Bucky saying his name, and the two of them laughing together, and it was too much. He felt like he was teetering on the edge of a cliff. “I can’t do this,” he said. “I can’t, Buck, it was a mistake.”

Bucky went tense. He met Steve’s eyes, and there was something strange in his face, not confusion or anger, more a kind of openness, a vulnerability that Steve had never seen before. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then he wetted his lips and asked, very quietly, “Why can’t you?”

Steve shook his head. He couldn’t lie, not when he could barely think, and not when Bucky was looking at him like that. “Because it’ll kill me to let you go again.”

“Thank fucking god,” Bucky said, and he put a hand on the back of Steve’s head and pulled him in for another kiss.

Steve couldn’t help melting into it, but as soon as his brain rebooted he pulled back. “What?”

“Steve, don’t let me go. Please.”

“Oh Christ,” Steve said weakly. “Buck, what the hell are you doing to me?”

“What am _I_ doing to _you?”_ said Bucky. “You have no idea, do you? You dumb punk, I’ve missed you since the second you walked out that door.”

Oh,” Steve said, feeling blank and disbelieving.

“I’ve been such a mess,” said Bucky. He lay back to look up into Steve’s face, and reached up to run gentle fingers through his hair. “Ever since the first day we went to the batting cages I’ve been trying to pretend like I’m not pretty  much crazy about you. I felt like a dirty old man whenever we kissed, because I was enjoying it way too much, but I couldn’t stop myself. And that night before we broke up, I didn’t think you’d say yes, but you did, and it was _mindblowing_. And then you slept on the couch, and I thought, okay, that’s it, that’s all he wants.”

“I wanted more. I wanted everything, I want _you_.”

“We’re so stupid,” Bucky said. “Steve, you can have me.”

Then Bucky’s mouth was on his again, and for a while Steve could do nothing but kiss back. As he did so, the disbelief and fear slowly faded. It was too real, it felt too right. He was perfectly comfortable there in Bucky’s arms.

 

***

 

“I should go,” said Steve, a long while later. He rolled over away from Bucky’s warmth and sat up. After a quick glance around he spotted his underwear on the floor and his jeans thrown carelessly onto a chair. His shirt was… somewhere. Not anywhere obvious.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch this time,” Bucky said, drowsily disapproving. He patted the patch of sheet that Steve had just vacated. “You’re sleeping here with me.”

“I mean I should go home, Buck. What’ll I tell Sam if I stay out all night?”

“Tell him we got back together,” Bucky said. He snagged Steve’s wrist and pulled him back down onto the bed. “Tell him, all is forgiven, I’m actually a great guy, and he’d better get used to the smoochy stuff again because I’m gonna be kissing you a shitload whenever I can get my hands on you.”

Steve laughed. “We should tone down the PDAs. We’ve tortured them enough.”

“Nuh uh. They deserve it. If Nat hadn’t been such a pain in the ass with her blind date schemes, I wouldn’t have been too pissy to notice when she delivered the perfect guy into my lap.”

Which, Steve had to admit, seemed fair enough. Sam and Sharon had delivered him the perfect guy, and had unwittingly delivered a whole lot of heartbreak to go along with it. They could deal with a few more kisses.

He fumbled his phone out of the pocket of his discarded jeans, and texted Sam: _Staying at Bucky’s tonight._

Roughly five seconds later, the phone rang. He looked at Sam’s name on the screen, and then pressed ignore, turned the phone to silent, and set it down on the bedside table. Then he crawled under the covers next to Bucky and fell quickly and soundly asleep.

 

***

 

When Steve walked through his front door the next day, he found himself faced with Sam and Sharon, both looking somewhere between worried and disapproving.

“Good morning, Steve,” said Sharon pointedly.

“Morning,” said Steve, giving her a sunny smile as he kicked off his shoes.

“You okay, dude?” said Sam.

“I’m good,” said Steve. “Is there coffee?”

Sam and Sharon exchanged pointed glances.

“Coffee?” Steve prompted.

“You got back together with Bucky,” said Sharon flatly.

“Yeah. He’s a really great guy, Sharon, you have no idea,” Steve told her. By now, he was well-practised at sounding just about as smitten as he possibly could, and it was easy to turn the voice on again. He knew he was being a jerk, and he was enjoying every minute of it.

“Steve, are you crazy? He hurt you. Some of the things he said – _Jesus_. You’ve been miserable for weeks, we were really worried about you.”

“Well, I guess it’s good that you can stop worrying,” said Steve. He stepped around her and poured himself a mug of coffee from the pot.

“What, because you’re suddenly acting like none of it ever happened? Sorry, that doesn’t make me any happier about your mental state.”

“It’s really okay.” Steve settled himself on the couch, sipping at his coffee. “Have you guys got any plans for today?”

Sam sat down in the chair across from him, and put on his serious, concerned listening expression. “Steve, I get that you miss him,” he said. “I get that he meant a lot to you. But what happened to, ‘He’s too immature for a real relationship,’ and all that? Do you have any reason to think he’s changed?”

“Things will be different this time.”

“Steve…”

“Very different,” said Steve and leaned back on the couch, stretching his shoulders in satisfaction.

 

***

 

By the time the doorbell rang, Steve was showered and dressed and presentable. “I’ll get it,” he said to Sam, and opened the door to reveal Bucky standing on the mat.

“Hi,” said Steve, surprised and pleased.

Bucky stepped close and kissed him, just a quick peck on the lips, not nearly enough. Steve wrinkled his nose and pulled him back in to kiss properly. He barely noticed Natasha shouldering past him into the apartment, with Clint trailing in their wake.

“Hi, sweetiepie,” Bucky murmured. “Doll-face. Huggybear.”

“Jerk,” Steve whispered back.

Behind them, he could hear Natasha demanding whether anyone else knew what the hell was going on, and Sam saying they were as baffled as she was. And Clint hugging Sharon and complaining that he didn’t even want to be up yet, what the fuck, why did his friends suck so much? It all led to everybody asking questions and giving opinions and generally concluding that the pair of them were crazy.

Bucky pressed his face into Steve’s shoulder and choked with muffled laughter.

“Shall we tell them?” asked Steve.

“You really want them to know how dumb we’ve been?

“Not so much,” Steve admitted.

Bucky raised his head. “Hey,” he called, voice raised to carry above the hubbub, “you guys hang out and have fun. We’re just gonna… go.”

“Your place?” said Steve.

“Works for me,” said Bucky cheerfully. He slipped his hand into Steve’s and they walked out together, leaving their baffled friends staring after them.

 


End file.
